De l'amour, de la vie
by birchermuesli
Summary: The plan of hating James Potter – or rather, the plan of not falling head over heels for him – was actually originally designed for a week. Then a fortnight, then a month, and two... L/J oneshot


**_De l'amour, de la vie_**

by birchermuesli

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><p><strong>Title: <strong>De l'amour, de la vie  
><strong>Author: <strong>birchermuesli  
><strong>Rating: <strong>K+  
><strong>Genre: <strong>Romance/Humour  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: _De l'amour, de la vie _is a fanfiction based upon characters and situations owned or created by J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros. Inc., Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and other publishers. No money is being made and no copyright infringement is intended.

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><p><strong>Dedicated to my readers, and those who have stood by me in the toughest of times. <strong>

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><p>"One day, James Potter – one day I swear you'll be the death of me." Lily Evans glares at the blurred figure in front of her eyes, tugging exasperatedly at a chunk of her knotty red hair as she feels her body slowly tremble, shiver – she's descending into madness, she's so sure of it. The figure is bright, blinding even.<p>

Sadly, it's not the aforementioned James Potter – it's just the blank white page of her diary. After all, she's obviously too chicken to say such a character-revealing statement to anything or anybody else.

The soft surface of the bed beneath her slides across the pale skin of her legs as Lily shrinks beneath the sheets. She's annoyed today – for many reasons really, but one of the most trivial ones being the fact that her pyjama shorts won't persist in ceasing to ride up her legs in a most suggestive way. Usually they behave very well, those pyjama shorts. They're Lily's favourite pair, baby blue with fluffy white quills. But today they're being incredibly unruly, so as a result Lily has ended up here on this creaky bed of hers, sighing and exclaiming proclamations of her love towards a stupid, handsome and messy-haired boy in a dramatic manner to the faceless figure of her diary whilst she hides the nasty mess of her bare legs that her pyjama shorts have made.

In all other circumstances, she wouldn't spare a single thought away and just throw the goddamned shorts away already. After all, they're preventing her from studying for the Transfiguration test tomorrow with her other Seventh Year classmates. However, this time she can't. She just can't, because James gave them to her.

It was for her birthday a week ago, with a tingling brush of his hand and an all-knowing glint in those hazel green eyes. And Lily feels that if she continues to wear them, the hope of having him within the reaches of her fingertips – the mere _fantasy_ of it, at least – will remain alive.

Fantasy is all she needs until she convinces herself out of being utterly and hopelessly attracted to James Potter. She has drawn a six month long plan to slowly wean herself off the delightfulness of the boy. Now Lily is in the later stages of the last month, and she's thinking that she'll have to extend the scheme for another two or three.

The plan of hating James Potter – or rather, the plan of not falling head over heels for him (Lily knew within the first few days that the 'hating' part was never going to work out) – was actually originally designed for a week. Then a fortnight, then a month, and two…

And here she is, still experiencing a heart tremor whenever she sees the back of his head, or the way one eye crinkles slightly more than the other when he laughs, or the underside of his forearm when he pushes up his sleeves in class.

Now, here _he _is banging on her door, because in a panicked moment of deliriousness she had rushed up to him during dinner, asked for a private word and in an extremely hurried tone told him to meet her at the Heads' dormitories at ten o'clock, before running off without even waiting for a reaction or response.

She doesn't even know what possessed her to do it.

More importantly, she doesn't know why she's wearing these slaggy shorts, that ridiculous present that James gave her, when she's about to meet him right now.

Lily doesn't know why she's slowly creeping out of bed, tiptoeing across the room and twisting the doorknob, pulling her arm back to find that tall boy standing in front of her.

Evidently, he has just gotten out from the shower because small wet strands of his raven black hair have attached themselves to his forehead, and he's wearing a fresh new shirt. It's white – nice and simple, just the way he knows she likes it.

It's also pressed and incredibly neat (very unlike James), not crinkled in the slightest. That's probably going to change soon.

With the tiniest of movements, James' eyes do a quick dart towards Lily's slaggy shorts. Then they meet hers again. His lips twitch slightly, causing another irregular spatter in Lily's heart. She wasn't joking when she said that the boy was going to be the death of her – she's convinced that he has given her a premature heart disease, or of the sorts.

For the next few moments, he and she – boy and girl, trouble maker and model student – stand there opposite each other, each waiting for the other to make the first move. And in Lily's mind a new plan formulates – to make James fall in love with her in thirty days.

Or perhaps there's no need for such a plan, because its objective has already been achieved.

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><p><strong>Hope you enjoyed, and have a great day. :)<strong>

**~ birchermuesli **


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